


woke up on the right side

by seasonschange



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Pushing Daisies AU, baker rhys, guess who's the dead guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasonschange/pseuds/seasonschange
Summary: Jack was approximately 48 years, 17 weeks, 2 hours and 33 minutes old when he decided there was maybe no better life than the pie maker life.





	woke up on the right side

* * *

Rhys was approximately 27 years, 42 weeks, 3 hours and 2 minutes old when he was taking out the trash after a long day at work, baking pies and serving them to the voracious population of Sanctuary, Pandora.

And it was exactly 4 minutes later that his fingers unwittingly brushed _something_  buried inside the trashcan.

And what was once dead was brought back to life.

* * *

 

“So, you touch people and _bingo!_ Revival?”

Rhys nodded, gripping the stick of his broom like it was a life buoy. He couldn’t believe his long-time crush was sitting at the bar inside his (currently closed) shop, alive and well and staring at him over a row of pastry displays with a suspicious glint in his mismatched eyes.

The news of Handsome Jack’s murder had been a very sad moment in Rhys’ life, who despite residing in Sanctuary alongside the Crimson Raiders had often found his beliefs and opinions aligned more with those of Handsome Jack than anyone else from the rebellion. So Rhys had mourned the death of the charismatic leader behind the closed doors of his pie shop, and it had taken him days before he could make his peace with Jack’s fate.

But now there he was, only a couple of feet away. Rhys only had to reach out and he could _touch_  Jack.

And kill him in the process.

“And back there,” Jack went on summarizing Rhys’ confused explanation from a few minutes ago, “you touched _me_ by accident, and I came back to life?”

Another nod.

“And does it work with everything?”

Rhys tugged at the stained apron wrapped around his waist, hoping to hide the tremor in his hands. “I’m sorry, what? Everything?”

“Yeah, can you revive people with your _toes_ , too? Or, I don’t know, your dick? Now _that would_  be a fun way to be brought back,” Jack leered at him, wiggling his eyebrows.

Rhys choked on his own saliva at the unsubtle come-on, but his blush was very brief. “It—it works with everything,” he eventually muttered, unable to outright comment on the last part about his dick.

Yeah, better not go there when he’d already been sporting a metaphorical boner for Handsome Jack over the past decade.

Jack stood up and clapped his hands once, loudly. “This is frickin’ awesome, kid! _You’re_  frickin’ awesome! Once I get my revenge on the assholes who killed me I’mma come back here and make you _rich_ like you wouldn’t believe it! It’ll be my thanks in exchange of your zombie magic trick. And then there’ll be no more need for any… err… pie business for you.”

Jack looked around as if he was only now noticing where they stood. “Hey, you know what, I might even hire you? With a skill like yours, _oh man_ , I could—”

“You can’t!” Rhys blurted, louder than he’d intended to.

Jack faltered in his speech, then his fists went to his hips.

“What does that mean, cupcake? Are you... _are you_   _threatening_   _me?_ "

At Jack's icy tone, all the good humor in the room evaporated instantly.

“No!" Rhys raised his hands in a pacifying gesture, "I'm _not_ threatening you! Just… listen, people will try to kill you again, won’t they? And the vault hunters, they’ve taken down all your allies. You wouldn’t be able to take a step outside right now without getting shot a hundred times. I’m afraid you… uhhhh, you have to stay here, Jack.”

“What?! Like hell, I’m going out!”

Rhys dropped his broom and half walked, half ran to stand in front of Jack, effectively barring the way to the doors.

“No, you’re not! And you don’t know everything about my power yet. All I have to do is touch you again, and you’re dead. This time, _forever._ If you want to start wreaking havoc all I gotta do is use my little finger and it’d be over.”

“Hah, right _..._ I don’t believe you!”

“Oh yeah? Then, suit yourself. Wanna put that theory of yours to the test?”

Rhys held out his hand like he wanted to shake hands, and waited. He was planning on pulling it immediately back the moment Jack did something stupid like reach out for it despite Rhys’ warning—but fortunately, Jack did nothing.

He remained with his hands on his hips, despite glaring up at Rhys like a feral animal that was _this close_  to lunging for Rhys’ throat and ripping it with his bare hands.

“If I’m lying, then shaking my hands would cost you nothing. Am I right?”

Rhys didn’t know if Jack was too smart to risk his life a second time, or if it was actual fear that saved him. But he didn’t reach out for Rhys’ hand, and after an intense minute of staring defiantly into each other’s eyes, Rhys shoved his hand into his pocket and shrugged.

“I’ve always been on your side about the bandit thing, you know. So I won’t mind if you stay here. And I’d prefer help around the shop over becoming insanely rich,” he teased. “And I know this life sounds boring as hell, but I can’t let you wander around and start wreaking havoc again that’d only end with you dead. Or leaving a trail back to me and my power. I’ve sacrificed too much to keep it a secret. And, you know, you might enjoy your stay, after all… Don’t you think that’s a little better than death?”

After a long pause, Jack huffed in apparent defeat. Then he sat back down at the bar, and without asking for permission he opened one of the glass containers and helped himself to one of the last pieces of pie left.

“Oh, everything’s better than death,” he said around a mouthful. “Trust me, kiddo.”

* * *

 

 _One day, I’ll get my revenge—_ Jack vowed after his first week at the shop.

 _I’ll find a disguise, change my face, even alter my voice so nobody recognizes me_ —Jack explained after three month’s time, ranting to a half—listening Rhys who had his hands full of pie batter.

 _Once I get my hands on Hyperion funds, I’ll find me some new badass allies—_ Jack plotted as he swept the floors, six months into his new life.

 _I’ll find another Vault—_ Jack shouted across the shop a year later in the early morning, as he held the rolling pin for Rhys while he sliced apples.

* * *

 

“I’ll be back at the top someday, baby, you just watch,” Jack said as he stood in the middle of the market, unrecognizable behind his dusty goggles and under his old beanie, “Hyperion’s influence is gonna suffer without a strong ruler, and I know I gotta be there. It’s my destiny.”

“Don’t you think you’re gonna miss baking?” Rhys asked without turning around, his focus mostly on the fresh drakefruits he was picking. “I think you’ve gotten better at it, lately.”

“I have, haven’t I? You _know_ you love my banana whip cream special!”

“God, yeah, it’s the _best_ ,” Rhys downright moaned at the memory. “And the customers do, too. But I’m not sure the President of Hyperion would have any time left for baking. And we’d be deprived of your special, which would suck. I’d actually fu—I mean, _really_ miss your pies.”

The prolonged silence on Jack’s end prompted Rhys to turn around.

Jack had pushed the bandit goggles up his forehead, and he was frowning, but it wasn’t his usual feral glare. He seemed lost in thoughts, or maybe busy trying to solve an impossible mathematical equation. 

“Don’t move,” Rhys suddenly announced, and waited a beat before patting Jack’s chest—they’d agreed on a few warning phrases and a couple of places it was safe to touch a while ago; it had been that or risk bumping into each other and skin touching skin inadvertently. And they couldn't risk that happening ever again.

The warning and the comforting gesture seemed to bring Jack back to the present, and he cracked a half-smile in return.

“Alright, cupcake, you win. I might stay a little longer for you. And the customers, of course. Wouldn’t wanna disappoint my fans!”

* * *

 

Jack was approximately 48 years, 17 weeks, 2 hours and 33 minutes old when he decided there was maybe no better life than the pie maker life.

This was also the moment he discovered cellophane kisses weren’t _that_  bad.

* * *

 


End file.
